


Walk, walk, fashion baby

by dfotw



Series: DA Shared Universe [10]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dresses, Gen, Genderqueer Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 02:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4287525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dfotw/pseuds/dfotw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ferelden is still celebrating the end of the Blight, and the Warden-Commander is going to celebrate in style.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“If Alistair asks you to dance the Remigold, just ignore him.”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk, walk, fashion baby

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the joint Dragon Age universe I have with [yunhaiiro](http://archiveofourown.org/users/yunhaiiro/pseuds/yunhaiiro), set at some unspecified point after the end game (but before Awakening).

Malia smooths the folds of the floor-length gown and frowns a little at the way the velvety fabric hangs.

“If Alistair asks you to dance the Remigold, just ignore him.”

Kwerkus snorts in response, but otherwise stays still. Malia, Leliana, and Malia's new maid (with a hilariously constipated expression on her face) have been hard at work for almost an hour and at this point, he's afraid to move without permission lest he gets 'accidentally' poked with a pin again.

“I am so glad you followed my advice about the colour!” says Leliana, walking around him with a critical eye. “And that we found an Orlesian tailor!”

Malia 'hmph!'s loudly and runs her fingers along the strips of soft fur around the neckline. She and the tailor had had stern words about the style, the fabric, the fur, the weather, and Fereldan traditions; Leliana had been torn and hadn't helped, and Kwerkus had deemed it more prudent not to intervene.

“You'll need a ribbon for your hair, I have one in my room, I'll be right back!”

Once Leliana runs out of the room, Malia moves to sit on the bed. She's wearing a dark blue gown with silver fur trimmings and a wry smile as she looks at Kwerkus.

“You can move,” she says, patting the bed by her side. The maid makes a face and goes to put some unnecessary order in the pile of discarded shoes in a corner.

Kwerkus complies, first carefully, then with more confidence when the gown doesn't disintegrate when he gives a step.

“People are going to talk, you know?” he asks, sitting by Malia.

“They do that. That's what balls are for, so we have something to gossip about.”

“You know what I mean,” he says reproachfully.

Malia shrugs, looking perfectly unconcerned.

“First smart comment, I'll have them exiled to the Kocari Wilds.”

“Very queenly of you, but we both know you can't very well alienate your nobles just for being mean to me.”

“Oh, I know! I'll have them named ambassadors to Orzammar. It's an honour they can hardly refuse, and frankly, I'd take wolves and the Chasind over the dwarves any day.”

Kwerkus smiles.

“Of course people are going to talk,” Malia continues. “They'll soon learn, however, that they better only have nice things to say. Or else.”

“As you say, Your Majesty.”

“Shut up, Warden-Commander.”

They sit in companionable silence for a moment, watching Malia's maid puttering away.

“Any advice?” asks Kwerkus at last; he's not feeling nervous, not at all, he just wants to fill the silence.

“Don't punch anyone,” answers Malia promptly. “In fact, don't do anything Zevran would do.”

“That severely limits my options.”

“You want to talk about limited options? I have to stand besides Alistair all evening, smiling and making sure he doesn't leap out of the window and run away screaming into the night.”

Kwerkus pats Malia's hand. He's not sure which of his fellow Wardens is taking being crowned harder: Alistair had shouted a lot at the beginning, but his sense of duty (and, you know, the opportunity of being actually married to Malia and having all the fine cheeses he wants) seems to have smoothed the edges of his discontent; on the other hand, for all he and Malia had agreed it was for the best and you'd think her upbringing made her perfect for the role, she seems anxious and stressed and unhappy every time they mention the subject.

“He'll come round to it, you'll see.”

“Yes, and you and Zevran will settle down in a lovely cottage on the outskirts of Denerim, opening a bakery and raising a gaggle of children.”

“I found the ribbon!” announces Leliana, walking into the room; the puppy charms in her blue satin shoes tinkle as she moves. “Come here, Kwerkus, it'll look lovely in your red hair, I'll just do a simple bow while you grow it out enough for braids.”

“Now you've said that, he'll chop it off tomorrow with his dagger,” Malia complains. “Wait, I have an emerald charm that will look darling hanging from the end.”

Kwerkus sighs and stands still and wonders if any of this was a good idea. Then, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and sees that he's smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, feedback is always appreciated!


End file.
